Author's note: Mean? Cruel? Moi? Methinks this is a bit of exaggeration. Defense Exhibit A, coming right up. And no, this isn't the end yet.
For a moment, nothing moved on the airport tarmac.
The gunfire still rang in Hannibal Lecter's ears. Something had smacked the side of his head, something immensely powerful like the fist of the angry God he hadn't believed in since he was a child. For a moment, he actually knew fear for the first time in many years. Was he dead? Was this hell?
No, wait. He cautiously freed his hand from behind his neck and touched the side of his head just above the ear, where the pain was coming from. His fingers came away bloody. He explored the side of his head a bit more, unmindful of the pain. His skull seemed intact. The trauma seemed to be only skin deep. No matter. With a mirror and a surgical needle, he could sew it up himself.
He let out a chuckle as he realized what had happened. Grazed. He'd been grazed. Charlene's bullet had been pulled off target by something. Had Clarice shot her? He thought she had.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter rose and dusted off the knees of his pants. He could see Clarice in the van. The rifle lay on her lap. Her head was buried in her hands. He turned around to look behind him.
Charlene Starling lay unmoving on the ground. A red blotch of blood bloomed at her right shoulder. Her eyes were closed. The .45 lay a few feet from her outstretched hand. But her chest rose and fell steadily. Dr. Lecter stared at her for a moment unsteadily. The blood wasn't too bad. Telling without an X ray would be impossible, but Dr. Lecter's experience in trauma led him to believe the wound was not serious. She wouldn't exsanguinate, at any rate.
Dr. Lecter squatted and picked up the pistol. He wobbled for a moment as he did. It didn't surprise him that he was dizzy. After all, a rather large bullet had just come into very close contact with his skull. The only thing that he could compare it to was once, in the asylum, when he had shifted his weight while Barney was still unbuckling his straitjacket. One of his assistants, already keyed up and nervous, had entered the cell and struck Dr. Lecter on the head with his riot baton. Fortunately, Barney had the courtesy to make his underling apologize later on.
But there would be no apology now. She was unconscious. Dr. Lecter bent his knees and checked her pulse. It was strong and regular. Her breathing was unimpaired. He pondered his options for a moment.
Charlene Stenson Starling had caused him more trouble than anyone else in years. Because of her, Dr. Lecter had been forced to leave a home and country he had quite enjoyed. Because of her, the authorities had updated pictures of his face. Because of her, he had been taken from his luxurious home and forced to occupy a filthy prison cell for three weeks. Because of her, Clarice had been imprisoned in a secure psychiatric hospital. This young stripling had proven herself a remarkable opponent, much more dangerous than he would have ever considered her to be. All of that leaned Dr. Lecter towards his first option: kill her. He had her gun. It would take only a moment.
But even as he reviewed the reasons for him to do so, he knew he would not. It was not for his own sake nor hers. Mercy had never had a place in Dr. Lecter's own mind. No, it was for Clarice that he would spare Charlene. If he killed Charlene, she would understand. He had no doubt of that. In time, she would heal and forgive him. But something would likely die in her as well. The sight of Hannibal Lecter killing her helpless, unconscious niece would be something that would scar itself into her mind. After all, he mused, the sight of Hannibal Lecter carrying away a bloody and unconscious Clarice Starling had affected Charlene much more massively than he would have ever thought. Clarice had suffered enough. She did not deserve this. He would offer her Charlene's life as a gift.
The second option would be for him to simply leave her here. Her wound was not serious, and Dr. Lecter believed she would be stable for the short period of time that it would take for Jacky-boy and the rest of his goons to arrive and call her an ambulance. That was possible. Unfortunately, that would leave him back at square one. She had found him once. It was hardly inconceivable that she might do it again. Dr. Lecter had no real desire to spend any more time quartered in a filthy cell with rats to keep him company. He'd learned the hard way not to underestimate her. No, leaving her would not work. It was acceptable for the short term, but it would be poor long-term strategy. Dr. Lecter owed his two escapes from custody to good strategy.
So that left him to the third option. At first, the very idea seemed as insane as the inmates Dr. Lecter had lived with for eight years. But as he thought about it, it seemed the best option for all involved. It would keep him safe from her relentless search for him. Plus, he was curious what might lie beneath those curls. It would please Clarice to no end. And yes, Dr. Lecter thought, in the end it would prove to be the best option for Charlene. Yes, it made perfect sense.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter lowered himself down a third time and slid his arms under the unconscious form of Charlene Starling. He adjusted her limp weight in his arms and began to walk towards the gate. Clarice looked up from where she sat in the van and saw him. Her face brightened and then dropped. But she got out of the van and began to busily cut the wires holding the fence to the post. By the time he reached the fence, she had cut enough free that he was able to pull it aside. Clarice stared down at her niece.
"Are you all right?" she asked anxiously. "Is she--,"
"I'm fine," Dr. Lecter assured her. "A bit of work on my ear, but that can wait. Charlene seems to be all right but unconscious."
Clarice stared at him. "What are you…what are you going to do with her?"
"Take her along," Dr. Lecter said. "I'll explain on the ride. Please, let's move."
Clarice took hold of her niece's shoulder and pulled her under the fence. After she was through, Dr. Lecter wriggled under the fence and picked up Charlene again. He glanced at the van and decided it would do.
Clarice took the wheel and Dr. Lecter squatted in the back to examine the wound. Physical examination indicated that it was not bad, as gunshot wounds went. Nothing felt broken. Good. There was a bump on the back of her head where she had fallen.
Dr. Lecter noticed a second rifle leaning against the wall of the van. It didn't fire bullets, he thought. The stock was plastic and it just didn't look right. Hmm.
"What is that, there?" Dr. Lecter asked Clarice.
"A tranquilizer gun," Clarice said. "I..umm…I made an ID and went to some little town's animal control department and told them I was from the ASPCA. Made up an official looking paper and everything. Told them I needed to take it for testing and would have it back to them in a few days. Once I had it, I realized it wouldn't have the range I needed. I was thinking I could avoid some senseless killing."
"What is it loaded with?" Dr. Lecter asked again, tilting his head. Now this might work to his benefit. Good thinking on her part. And so like Clarice, to want to avoid killing her former compatriots if she could.
"Tranquilizer darts. I don't remember what kind," Clarice said.
Dr. Lecter nodded and picked up the rifle. He aimed it at Charlene's left thigh. There, the dose would diffuse into the muscle mass, the way it was supposed to. He remembered that night at Mason Verger's. At the time he'd wondered if Clarice was going to die. Fortunately, she had not.
He squeezed the trigger. A sound like a green stick breaking filled the van, making Clarice jump a bit. A feathered dart flew from the barrel and buried itself in Charlene's leg. She would sleep for the time being. She wore BDU pants, and the legs were wide enough that he was able to pull it up. That was better; taking off her pants would have been a slightly uncomfortable situation. The dart was buried firmly into her thigh. Dr. Lecter removed the dart and reached up front to store it in the glove compartment. The wound did not bleed heavily. There was a first aid kit in the van and that served to bandage that wound. The shoulder wound he patched up with what he had. It would need further work. He left his own head wound alone for now; he needed both hands free and did not want to wrap surgical tape around his head.
Clarice drove the van down a rarely used access road as fast as she could. Ahead lay the interstate. There was no exit, but this was not a problem for Clarice. She revved the engine and drove up the slight incline onto the shoulder of the highway. It was a bit bumpy, and Dr. Lecter found himself obligated to hold onto the unconscious woman on the floor of the van lest she slide towards the back.
The van's powerful V8 roared anew once it was on the asphalt. Clarice accelerated to highway speed and merged into traffic. A car honked at her and she flipped them off with high good humor. She felt better than she had since Dr. Lecter's arrest.
The van roared down the highway at seventy miles an hour. Clarice took the first exit that came up a few miles later. She pulled the van into the parking lot of a down-at-the-heels strip mall and stopped.
"Everybody out," Clarice said lightly.
A few spaces away was parked a gleaming black Cadillac with tinted windows. Dr. Lecter looked at it and nodded approvingly. It would do for the short term. Large enough to be comfortable for a road trip, and more inconspicuous than a Jaguar or Bentley would have been. Plus, it did have enough luxury for his tastes. The back seat was large enough that Charlene could lie supine in it.
He would need some drugs, he thought. But stopping at a hospital along the way would be easy. Hopefully Charlene would remain unconscious until that happened. Just in case, Dr. Lecter took the tranquilizer gun and put it next to him in the passenger seat. He took a pen and paper from the van's clutter and scribbled a brief note, which he left on the driver's seat of the van.
"Do you know where we're going?" he asked.
Free of the immediate need to carry out the escape, Clarice threw her arms around him and held him tightly. She squeezed him for a long moment, relishing in his presence. They were both free and together. That was all that she had ever wanted. And now she had it again.
"Oh yes," she said.
But escape was still necessary and their pursuers were not that far behind. So Clarice let him go and started the Cadillac. She pulled out, picked up the highway again, and the Cadillac blended easily into the traffic of the highway, heading sedately north.
…
Perhaps twenty minutes later, the parking lot was bathed in flickering red lights. A forensics team was crawling over the van. They'd already identified Clarice Starling's fingerprints all over the wheel. They were working on fingerprints that they'd found on the walls and side, but Crawford already knew they would be identified as Dr. Lecter's. He found himself wondering about the blood. They'd found a bloodstain on the ground at the airport. Another on the wire of the cut fence. And a third one on the floor of the van. But it wasn't much; certainly not enough to suggest death.
One of the technicians walked up to him and held out a piece of paper in a plastic evidence bag. Crawford eyed him calmly.
"Sir, you should have a look at this," the tech said.
Crawford reached out and took the paper with a shaking hand. "Why me?"
"It's addressed to you, sir," the technician said, and slipped away before Crawford had a chance to react.
Jack Crawford read the note. It was hardly Dr. Lecter's style. No fine paper, no fancy pen. Just a memo pad that Clarice Starling had picked up and a regular ballpoint. But the contents were pure Lecter.
Dear Jack,
Here we are again. Déjà vu, is it not? Were you planning a celebration upon my transfer to prison? I'm afraid your jubilee is premature. Jack, really. I had been willing to leave you alone up until now. Why can you not allow me the same privilege?
I took the liberty of taking your Starling, by the way. You had planned to deprive me of mine, so it is fair play. Tell me, Jack, did you relish her pain? That's obviously what you used to drive her to capture me. Fear not, I'll release her eventually, once she is no longer of use to you. Currently she's asleep and looks quite peaceful – a peace she probably hasn't known since coming to work for you, and a peace you attempted to deny Clarice and I. We'll reclaim ours, though. Hunt us if you will, but you won't catch us again. Really, you might as well write it off.
We're very much alike, Jack. Much more so than you would care to admit. It sounds at first glance like you were involved in some naughty behavior vis-à-vis my wife. If that's true, then may I suggest you get some Botox injections injected facially? The wrinkles are quite deeply graven in the photograph of you on the FBI web site. The reason I recommend that, Jack, is that if I discover you did anything to my wife that resembles what I think you did, I'll be repaying that with interest. Have you ever seen a dead person all made up and painted like a two-dollar trollop? Gruesome, isn't it? That's not how you want to be remembered, is it? I think not.
Sincerely,
Hannibal Lecter, MD
Jack Crawford's lips split back from his teeth in a snarl. His face turned red. He threw the paper on the ground and went back to his car, and when the media arrived he refused to answer any questions.